[A/N: This story just picked up another two awards, one of which completely floored me, especially given the competition. Nominated in the one-shot category of “Best Baby Fic” in Round 5 of Fang Fetish Awards, along with some very serious competition including Megan’s Nanny Spike and Aunt Buffy, Addie Logan’s Newborn, and Heart Don’t Lie by Nautibitz, (which were my personal favorites) I totally did not expect to win at all. Imagine my complete surprise when I did. Just really floored me. I am not a little overwhelmed by the reception this story has gotten and continues to get; it’s very humbling. So my thanks to whomever nominated me, thanks to the judges who voted for me and a heartfelt thanks to the judge who made this their favorite story (because I got a judge’s choice award also). The title is a loose paraphrase, I came up with (and the title of my web page) that sort of owes itself to a line in the movie Dracula (1992 Coppola version) “I have crossed oceans of time for you.” Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Things are settling down in Sunnydale, everyone’s in a sort of holding pattern (at least those who are currently at Revello Drive); Faith and Jenner are still at it; Buffy’s contemplating what it means to choose; and Spike’s been badly injured on the quest for Connor. This backtracks a bit, then picks up shortly after the last installment.



Book Two. Chapter Seventy-two. No oceans between us

Valor is common
but great souls are rare.
Bernard Joseph Saurin, Spartacus, act 3, sc. 1

Though seas and land be ‘twixt us both,
Our faith and troth,
Like separated souls,
All time and space controls:
Above the highest sphere we meet
Unseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet.
Richard Lovelace, To Lucasta, Going beyond the Seas


Two souls in one,
two hearts into one heart.
Guillaume de Salluste Du Bartas, First Week, Sixth Day.

There are two births: the one when light
First strikes the new awakened sense;
The other when two souls unite,
And we must count our life from thence,
When you loved me and I loved you,
Then both of us were born anew.
William Cartwright, To Chloe, Who Wished Herself Young Enough for Me



“He’s out there, searching for the boy.”

Buffy turned at the sound of the voice beside her to find Arianrhod doing as she’d just been, staring out into the hazy mist covering the water lapping at the shore. She didn’t pretend to misunderstand what the Goddess was telling her. Her meaning was very clear. Spike was out there somewhere, struggling to get Connor back. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest for a moment, until Buffy inhaled deeply.

“Is he okay?”

A slight frown marred the otherwise flawless features of the red-headed woman, though she quickly schooled her expression. “He will be.”

Buffy turned to face her, sudden furious, ferocious anger for her mate stiffening her spine. “Will be? That’s so not good enough.”

The taller woman met her look, unfazed by the Slayer’s anger. “For now, it has to be.”

Drawing herself up to her full height, which barely reached the other woman’s waist, Buffy balled her hands into fists. “Not just now. He has to be okay. I need him to be okay.” Fear for him fed her anger, and she took a step closer, not caring that the other woman could stop her with a thought. “You don’t understand. I need him.”

Kindness flared in her eyes for a brief moment, and Arianrhod laid a hand on Buffy’s tensing forearm. “I do understand, far better than you believe. He needs must do what he must.” Arianrhod looked out over the water, her gaze unfocused. “There are trials he must face in order to retrieve the child stolen from you, and much danger lies on the paths he must walk.”

“Trials? Who said anything about trials? What does he have to do?” Buffy cringed at the whine in her voice, but she couldn’t help herself. She had to know if he was going to be safe, that he was all right. “Can you at least tell me what’s happened?”

Drawing in a deep breath, Arianrhod closed her eyes, her whole body stilling on the indrawn breath. Time ceased for that moment, nothing moved at all, save Buffy’s heartbeat. Without opening her eyes, the Goddess spoke. “Destroyed the crystal beast sent to scorch their skin, suffered the way of lost souls. They have survived one trial and one despair. Their fate hangs in the balance.”

“Wait. . . . they?” Refusing to even think about the last thing she’d said, Buffy concentrated on the fact that she kept referring to Spike in the plural.

Arianrhod still hadn’t opened her eyes or looked toward Buffy. “Company he has, another like him. Kin.”

Lawson? Okay, that’s good. With more fear than anger in her tone, Buffy asked her one last question. “Will he be okay?”

“Child, can you not feel him yourself?”

Wiping away the tears she hadn’t realized she’d been shedding until this second, Buffy sniffled and shook her head. “I tried . . I can’t really, only faintly. I know he’s still there, but, I can’t read him the way I could before.”

Taking pity on the girl, Arianrhod finally opened her eyes. Pressing her opened palm onto the spot just over her heart, she breathed onto her forehead. “Try now.”

Closing her own eyes, Buffy concentrated on feeling Spike, seeking out the threads binding them together. Her heart thumped loudly in her own ears, her breathing overwhelming the external noises and suddenly, like a flash of lightning in her belly, she could smell him, the musk of his skin close against hers, his arms around her, his nose nuzzling into her hair. Oh, Spike. . . . I miss you so much!

The scent changed, the weight of him increasing, feeding her panic, until she remembered the last time she’d felt this; when he’d been injured after the Knights had attacked. “He’s hurt.”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoke out loud until Arianrhod’s response.

“He is.”

“I need to go. I have to make sure he’s okay. I have to take care of him.” Buffy pleaded with the Goddess, her hands wringing and tears once more clogging her vision.

She sighed again, shaking her head in denial. “Nay. He needs must do this.” At the smaller woman’s crestfallen expression, she relented somewhat. “I will send someone to ease his path. Will that appease you for now?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Please, just make sure he’s okay.”

“Consider it done.”

And with that, the Goddess disappeared, leaving Buffy once more alone, staring out at the mist covered water.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


“Were you not told time was not your ally in this place?” The words were a bit confrontational, though the tone was still gentle.

Sam wiped his eyes, remarking, “Yeah, we were, but I don’t think anyone planned on this happening.” Without waiting for her to reply, he asked, “What the hell was that thing, anyway?”

“Cythraul Wybren. They nest in the heights of Caer Eryri. ‘Twould be safer to find a way through the mountain than over.” From somewhere behind her, she produced an earthenware jug. Offering it to Sam, she continued, “The hounds have discovered a trail. You would be wise to follow it.”

“I’m not sure we can.” He stared at the offering then reluctantly took it from her outstretched hand. “Water doesn’t help.”

“Who said it was water?” She smiled at him, the expression transforming her face. “I am not your enemy. William needs assistance and I offered to come.”

“An’ jus’ how did you get here?” His voice was strained and hoarse, but Spike was finally awake and aware of his surroundings.

“The same way the others have.” Rianwyn leaned down to peer intently at him. “Can you sit?”

With a deep groan, Spike half rolled to a sitting position. He was panting for breath, leaning heavily on his hands, keeping his back away from the rock wall behind him.

Rianwyn held a smaller jar to his lips. “Here.”

Catching a whiff of the sweet smelling elixir, Spike jerked back in surprise. “Tha’s Slayer blood.”

“Not quite, though it is as powerful.” At Spike’s disquiet look, she sighed. “William, are you always this stubborn? ‘Tis freely given.”

He croaked out, “Why?” before sipping at the jug.

“Why? Better you should ask why not?” Another sigh broke from her lips and a slight flare of amusement shone in her eyes. “Have you not been told you are uncommon? Why must you hear it again?”

Sam watched them, listening to their exchange and could stop his own questions from spilling forth. “What exactly does that mean? Three times we’ve gotten unexpected help from women who haven’t bothered to really explain why.”

Rianwyn shifted her gaze to Lawson, an amused smile playing about her lips. “Art always this bold, vampire?”

Her suddenly formal speech alerted Sam to the fact he might have just overstepped his bounds. Before he could backtrack and apologize, she waved a hand, dismissing his words. “I suppose it is for me to explain. I needs must see to William, firstly.”

Satisfied that he’d consumed the contents of the jug, Rianwyn spoke softly in a language Lawson didn’t recognize and the fire flared green and yellow. When the flames died down, Spike was residing on a low cot, propped up on his side, mounds of soft furs piled beneath him.

“We have come, in part, to right a grievous wrong done William and the Slayer.” Rianwyn got to her feet, moving away from Spike’s side. “One of our own allowed the witch access to powers she could not control.”

The cave was silent, only the crackle of flames interrupting the quiet. Rianwyn’s voiced sounded again, this time stronger and with more anger. “Because of this, events were set in motion that should not have been.”

“So that means Buffy wasn’t supposed to come back.” Spike found he could hardly choke out the words.

“The advent of Glorificus was not predicted for many years.” Her sigh nearly rattled the loosely piled rocks surrounding them. “Impetuous and impatient, Glorificus slowly lost her sanity. Being trapped inside a human form only increased the madness. Had she waited for a more auspicious time, the outcome might have differed.” With a shake of her head, Rianwyn continued, “‘Tis neither here nor there. What’s done is done.”

“Easy enough for you to say. You’re not the one all battered an’ bruised, not knowing where your heart is,” Spike snapped at her, his tone peevish.

“Fair enough. Though I have been in your place.” Rianwyn moved again, the hem of her skirts skimming over the ground. Her steps brought her closer to him, and she knelt down so she could look into his eyes. His pain was clearly etched in the planes and shadows of his features and her expression softened as her own eyes scanned his face. Rianwyn placed her hand over his heart, and smiling to let him know she meant no harm, she breathed out softly onto his forehead. Immediately, Spike felt the itch start to ease a bit. Unconsciously he inhaled her scent and a wave of something so familiar came over him that he blinked away tears. She smells like Buffy . . . His heart clenched, wishing she were there beside him instead of this woman. Oh, kitten, where are you? Are you safe?

He blinked and Rianwyn had moved away, but the scent of Buffy still remained, only now it teased at his nose, and he surreptitiously glanced around, half expecting her to step out of the shadows beyond the firelight. Her presence teased at the edges of his awareness, something he hadn’t felt before in this place and he got the feeling it was all due to the other woman’s touch. Following his intuition, Spike closed his eyes and concentrated heavily on Buffy, seeking out the bond they shared. A smile played about his lips and the pain eased the instant he felt her there. Brief flashes of strong emotions came hurtling at him and all he could do was send his own assurances back. Just knowing she was there, still inside him, offered more comfort than he'd ever expected

“Is’at why you came?”

A soft, ironic laugh echoed back from the cave walls and Rianwyn busied herself with the jug. “Deirdre wanted to come, but allowed herself to be convinced otherwise.”

Sam stared at her while she mixed some herbs she seemingly plucked from thin air, dropping them one by one into the bigger of the two jugs. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken until the weight of Rianwyn’s gaze fell on him.

“Deirdre of the Sorrows.” At his blank look she clucked her tongue. “For shame. With your face and your name, one would think you’d be better versed in the tales of your kin.”

“What? What’s that mean?”

Rianwyn shook her head, exasperation writ clearly on her features. “It means, vampire, that you are sadly lacking knowledge of those who came before you.”

Spike chuckled, settling back against the furs.

“Who are you? And why are you helping?” Sam’s voice rose and he belatedly realized he sounded no better than a petulant child.

“I told you who I am.” She handed the jug to Spike, urging him to drink.

“Actually, all you did was give us a name.”

With a soft sigh, she relented somewhat. “I am Rianwyn, child of Morgause and Pwyll. And I am the last of my line, the last to be called the Lady of Avallach.”

The names and titles meant nothing to Sam and he gazed back at her, confused curiosity in his eyes. Spike, however, had recognized the names, and though the title wasn’t the same, he had a feeling she wouldn’t object to the better known epitaph. When Lawson’s focus shifted to him, Spike partially filled in the blanks in a round-about way.

“Thought that was Morgan le Fay.”

She snapped at him, remarking tersely, “Ever has she sought that which was mine.” Rianwyn turned away, not allowing either of them to see her face. “I help because I must. Because, like William, I gambled all that I had – all that I was -- for my love. Because I loved . . . not so wisely but ever so deeply.”

Her voice was a mere whisper by the end and neither of her listeners mentioned the salty tears slipping down her cheeks.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


She thought about it.

Thought about kicking a part the wooden slats of the headboard and staking him.

Thought about it while she searched the room for her clothes; while she angrily got dressed and while she was returning the favor of tying him to the bed.

Just as she was securing his left hand to the bed, Jenner began stirring. Moving faster, Faith finished as his eyes opened to see her straddling his hips. A broken chair leg clutched in her fist hovered over the spot where his unbeating heart lay.

Neither one of them spoke. Two sets of eyes – one dark, one flinty blue -- never wavered. The Aurelian master and the Slayer.

He wasn’t going to beg for his life.

He understood why Faith had turned the tables. Could see the anger masked something no amount of bravado could ever hide.

She’d been afraid. Afraid that at any second he would strike, driving his fangs deep into her bared, vulnerable flesh and ending her life. And because he had seen that fear lurking in her eyes, Jenner stayed still and silent.

Faith couldn’t stop trembling.

Her hand wavered, her fist flexing and tensing over the still body beneath her. Angry tears filmed over her vision, though she made no move to wipe them away. She refused to even acknowledge that she was crying. She closed her fist around the makeshift stake, inhaling deeply as her hand closed the distance.

Both fists pounded against his still chest, her breathing harsh and rasping. Deep, aching sobs wrenched from her chest and with a last frightened look, Faith fled, leaving him behind.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Contrary to what her dark prince had once believed about her, Drusilla was more than capable of taking care of herself. She just didn’t like to. It was far easier to let William do it. The second her baby brother – the nasty sailor boy – turned his back, she’d disappeared, leaving what was left of her family behind.

Daddy’s gone. . . .

Daddy’s gone. . .

Sobs, visceral, guttural and deep, wracked her thin frame. Drusilla doubled over, her fingers scrabbling through her hair, pulling at it.

“Noooo, no, no, no. . . “ Leening wildly, she collapsed in a heap, her latest victim’s blood bathing the walls of the rest stop bathroom.

The cries echoed against the stark white tile, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights. Sticky blood dripped from every surface, slowly plopping onto her pale features, smeared across her cheeks and seeping across the floor.

Her wails escalated until there was nothing but the sound of her grief.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I need him.

Her words to Arianrhod echoing in her head, Buffy didn’t fight the epiphany surging through her. I need him.

Buffy had never willingly admitted to herself, much less anyone else that she needed someone. Until just recently.

It started during the fight with Glory, when Spike had willingly stood shoulder to shoulder with her and she’d told him – and the rest – how much she needed his assistance. But it had ended there. Since her return, Buffy had begun relying on Spike more and more, until now she couldn’t imagine being without him.

I need him.

Oh, God. I need him.

A tremulous smile broke over her face and the tears she’d stopped with Arianrhod’s assurance started anew. Her hand drifted down over her belly and Buffy’s smile softened. We need him. . . .

Some weight that had been on her soul for a long time eased with the admittance. Her burden wasn’t only her own, not as long as Spike was with her. He was always there, helping, doing whatever he could to help. It wasn’t like Angel. Looking back on his first appearance into her life, Angel had never put himself out there with her, had never once fought beside her when no one else was looking. And the others, as much as they tried to help, half the time she was rescuing them or urging them to leave the heavy stuff to her. With Spike, none of that worried her. Sure, he’d needed rescuing from Glory, but otherwise? Spike was as indestructible as she was, blessed with the ability to survive almost anything.

Thinking of that eased another ache binding her heart. Short of dusting, there wasn’t anything Spike couldn’t withstand. Playing with the ring he’d given her, Buffy’s thoughts focused on him, on feeling the connection between them. This bond they shared was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Beyond love, beyond caring, it encompassed everything she was, everything they were, forging something new. They weren’t just Buffy and Spike – vampire and slayer, man and woman – they were two become one. Their essences had merged until sometimes she couldn’t imagine being without him.

I need him. . . .

Resolution flooded through her and Buffy realized she’d made her decision.